


Battle Cries

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Battle Cries [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Clan Denial, Crossover, Gen, Immortals, Jaeger Pilots, Richie Lives, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1990827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As part of jaeger pilot training, the PPDC invites two swordmasters to demonstrate ruthlessness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Cries

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sam Johnsson for pointing out what needed fixing.
> 
> Re: Highlander canon: Richie Ryan didn't die; it was just a near miss. La la la, can't hear you because I'm swimming in a river of denial. This means that he's fudging his age and experience. ETA: If you're wondering why Richie and not some other immortal - well, please keep reading. I have Reasons. :-)

Swords weren’t a common sight in the kwoon, but an exception was being made for this particular duo. Both men looked to be in their early twenties; both were whipcord lean and muscular, with deep-set eyes, wide foreheads, and straight noses. The redhead of the duo had his hair cut short and wore a faded blue long-sleeved t-shirt advertising “Joe’s Bar – Seacouver, Washington” as well as a pair of cutoff denim shorts. His sword was a wide rapier with an ornate handle. His opponent had brown hair, cut in a shaggy fashion; he wore a black long-sleeved t-shirt and black gi-style pants, and wielded a katana. Standing on the mat behind the Academy’s fight master, a broadly built woman named Tahlia Nguyen, they waited respectfully for her signal to begin.

“Although you will be fighting in jaegers,” Tahlia said to the assembled group, “it is important for you to understand what ruthlessness looks like. For those of you who have been soldiers in the wars we have fought previously, this concept is not new. However, we feel that we need to stress to that the physical and mental discipline required to execute the kaiju is not to be taken lightly. For that reason, we have brought two of the world’s finest swordsmen to demonstrate what that kind of discipline looks like. Cadets, this is Connor and Richie.” Her hand gestures indicated the brown-haired man first, then the redhead, before she stepped away to join the crowd.

As if that was the signal, the two men began their fight. From his position on the sidelines, Herc saw instantly that these two were not amateurs. Beside him, Scott murmured, “They must’ve been training since they were in nappies.”

No quarter was given, and the sound of steel clanging soon rang out. “That all you got, old man?” Richie taunted.

Connor laughed, a harsh sound, and disengaged his blade. “Come to dance, boy?”

“If you’re leading, no,” came the reply, and Herc was startled to hear the underlying glee.

Watching them, Herc thought they could’ve doubled for a Musketeers-themed movie. Richie was quick on his feet, but Connor was just a touch faster. Several blows were exchanged, including kicks and punches, startling the crowd.

“Did I just see –” Scott gasped as Connor used a dance move to sashay past Richie.

“Told you I didn’t want to dance,” Richie said, sounding aggravated.

Herc slanted a glance at his younger brother. “Believe the answer’s yes.”

“Then you’d better move faster,” Connor replied to Richie.

As promised, the fight was no holds barred, but there was an underlying current Herc didn’t understand, as if despite their apparent friendship, they had reason to hate each other. They fought each other with an aggressiveness that didn’t let up even when they both paid for badly timed moves. Richie managed to roll away from a trap, still clutching his sword. Connor advanced, and they traded lunges and parries for a while as stage blood spilled until Connor managed to land a final strike. Blood spilled to the mat, and Richie fell.

Connor waited a moment before kicking the ‘corpse’. Richie lunged, pulling Connor to the mat, and Connor went the movement before trapping Richie in a judo lock. Richie tapped out after a moment, and Connor released him. The two men rose, bowing to each other, then the audience.

“Remember, the kaiju’s not dead until it stops mooing,” Richie said with a grin, his accent sounding as American as the now-slightly shredded t-shirt he wore.

“Thank you for your attention,” Connor said, his accent placing him as someone not from anywhere Herc knew.

Tahlia turned to the two men and bowed deeply. “Thank you. Cadets, if you have questions for Connor and Richie, you may stay. All of you must report for your next class in an hour.” Three-quarters of the group left at that announcement.

Herc and Scott lingered, aware that this was a special deviation from the standard procedure. At this stage of their training, they were among the twenty pairs likely to be selected for a jaeger if they got through this last month with no problems. Ten jaegers were ready for pilots, which meant that ten pairs would have to wait for the next batch to be built or be shifted into the jaeger corps, working in the Shatterdome as LOCCENT techs or jaeger mechanics or other support staff. Herc hoped – given that he and Scott were the only Australians to make it this far – that he wouldn’t have to wait.

Herc glanced around, noting that half of the other final candidates had remained. Seeing them, Tahlia smiled, pleased.

“Please give Connor and Richie a few minutes to clean up,” she said. “They will be with you shortly.” She then went to wipe the kwoon mat clean of the blood spatter.

“That was incredible!” Matilde Barros, one of the other candidates, gushed as they waited. “They must’ve been training forever!”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, unconsciously running a hand through his reddish-brown hair. “So you know about what they were doing?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I fenced in college. It looked like they were doing it from muscle memory. Both of the swords they had looked very old, not like anything I’ve seen outside of a museum.”

Herc smiled at the Brazilian woman’s enthusiasm. “Going to ask if you can touch them?”

“The swords or them?” she asked, grinning, and both Scott and Herc laughed.

It didn’t take long for Connor and Richie to reappear. Both men had changed clothes. Richie now wore a t-shirt for what Herc remembered as a dive bar in Sydney with incredible blues music, jeans, and motorcycle boots. Connor wore a denim shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and carried a small duffel bag, in which Herc assumed were their other clothes and swords. As soon as they were back in the center of the room, Tahlia assembled the cadets.

“Two questions only from each pair,” Tahlia said. “If you have further questions beyond that, please email them to me and I will ensure that they are forwarded to our guests.”

“Thank you, Tahlia,” Connor said.

Herc and Scott looked at each other, and arranged themselves so they were last. It helped them decide what to ask, for one, and it gave them the benefit of listening to how Richie and Connor answered.

“How old are you?” was the first question asked.

Connor laughed, a short, staccato laugh. “Old enough to know better than to ask that question of someone who’s here to teach you. If I was ten years old and could tell you that the enemy you’re fighting has moves you’ve never seen, would you listen?”

That made that candidate flush with embarrassment. His partner elbowed him. “Told you that was a wasted question,” he muttered. “We’ll forfeit our second question. Thank you for your demonstration. Come on, Peter, we need to study.” He hustled them out of the room.

“How long have you been training?” was the next question.

“Since I was a boy,” Connor answered. “I was raised to be a soldier.”

“I wasn’t,” Richie said with a grin, radiating an easy charm. “I’ve been training with Connor and his cousin for the last ten years.”

“Do you think that knowing how to fight like that would give you an edge in a jaeger?”

Connor gave the candidate an arched look, somehow wordlessly conveying the candidate’s stupidity.

By the time it was Herc and Scott’s turn, at least half of the candidates present had been treated to that look. Herc chanced a glance at Tahlia, who didn’t look happy at the way things were going, and he had a sudden suspicion that any candidate who got that look was going to pay for it later somehow.

Scott looked at Herc, worried. “You do the talking,” he hissed in an undertone. “If they’re weeding out people based on his reaction, I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Herc sighed; he generally preferred letting his more gregarious brother speak. It didn’t help, either, that he’d had a low-grade headache from the moment the guest swordmasters had walked into the room. He forced himself to ignore the pain – it wasn’t as bad as getting shot – and speak. “We’d like to know what you think is a good strategy in a fight, whether to go out completely ruthlessly or to choose in the moment to fight for what you believe in.”

Connor grinned and looked at Richie, who shook his head as if to say, “You’re asking me to answer this?”

“You know this as well as I do,” Connor told him. “You tell it better.”

Richie grinned, and turned to Herc and Scott. “You can’t choose in the moment. You have to know what you believe in before you fight, else you spend every minute in the fight second-guessing everything. You have to believe you can, that everything you’ve trained in counts for something, because your opponent thinks you’re worth killing. You’ve already made one choice by being here and getting to this point.”

“And what if what you’re facing is bigger and meaner than you thought?” Scott asked, voicing the fear they all had.

“Then you use what you have,” Richie said, “and see if you can’t improvise.” He paused, then added, “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. The trick is believing, and then believing it still when you’re bruised and battered and sore but alive to tell the tale and have to do it again.”

“You will win,” Connor said. “It will take awhile.” It felt like a prediction and a warning all in one.


End file.
